That starts now.
“We’re going to play a game, princess.”
She tenses the tiniest bit, but it’s like her body doesn’t have the strength to hold even that position, because she immediately melts back into me. “We’re playing a game right now.” Her voice is hoarse, but her breathing has mostly returned to normal.
“Consider this a game within a game.”
Gaeton is watching me like I’m a snake about to sink my fangs into her. “I’m listening.”
“Isabelle hasn’t been having her needs met. For every question she answers honestly, she gets that fantasy played out in real life.”
Interest flares in Gaeton’s dark eyes. “Now I’m really listening.”
Isabelle gives a shaky little inhale. “You two are asking a lot of honesty from me and not giving me much in return.”
She’s not wrong, but I give her nipple a light pinch all the same. “If you have a counter proposal, make it.”
“A truth for a truth. I’ll answer truthfully, but you will, too.”
Instinct demands I say no. Information is more valuable than money, and the power dynamic between the three of us is already precarious at best. Keeping Isabelle off-center long enough to figure out shit with Gaeton is the safest option.
But, fuck, I want some answers, too.
Gaeton gives Isabelle’s thigh one last kiss and sits back, disengaging himself from us. “I’m game if you are.”
“Yes.” I shift to one side of the couch, taking Isabelle with me. “Get up here.”
“Sir, yes, Sir.” He rolls his eyes but climbs up to take up two-thirds of the overstuffed couch. Isabelle ends up with her legs draped over his thigh and twisted in my lap so her back is against the arm of the couch. No hiding for any of us in this position.
I give him a long look and then focus on Isabelle. “Tell us one fantasy that you want above all others.”
She narrows her eyes. “You’re really starting off with a softball, aren’t you?”
I shrug as if her answer isn’t one of the more important pieces of information I’m after. “Answer and we will.”
She frowns like she doesn’t like it, but finally sighs. “Fine.” Isabelle looks out the window across from the couch, and I allow her that space because it means I get the answer I’m looking for. “Gaeton’s kind of hit it on the head with the dirty little slut thing. I want to be … wicked, I guess? The idea of being put on display where anyone could have me, or of walking into a bar and fucking the first person who offers to buy me a drink. I get off to those two fantasies a lot.”
Fuck.
If that’s the kind of thing that gets her off—and every piece of evidence I’ve collected for the last twenty-four hours suggests it is—Gaeton and I did her a serious disservice when we were dating. We did ourselves a serious disservice, too.
I touch her chin, the barest pressure to bring her face back to look at us. “Just men?”
She blushes a little. “No, not just men. I said the first person who offers me a drink, and I meant it.”
I glance at Gaeton, and the look on his face mirrors the determination filtering through me. Before our time with her is up, we’re going to ensure we play out both of these fantasies for her. Safely, because a whole hell of a lot can go wrong with the latter. I twist a lock of her hair around my finger. “It’s not enough to fuck a stranger, though, is it? You want to be wicked, you want to be caught. Punished. Told what a dirty little slut you are.”
She licks her lips. “Yes.”
Oh yeah, we can work with this. I give her hair a little tug and release her. “Gaeton, you’re up.”
This should be easy for us. We both play in the Underworld on the regular, and that place has a way of bringing any fantasy a person can dream up to life. Still, there’s nothing simple about this kind of honesty, and I don’t blame him for taking his time answering.
Gaeton finally huffs out a breath. “Fuck, fine. You know those parties your father used to throw all the time?”
She tenses, and I can’t help doing the same. For a minute there, I’d almost forgotten that he was gone. Another person I care about, dead and buried, a loss in the war with death that none of us will ever win. Isabelle clears her throat. “Yes, though Cordelia was the one organizing them.”
“I want you to wear one of those short little numbers, the ones that are just shy of being proper, with no panties under it.” He holds her gaze as he speaks, his expression so intense, it steals my breath. “And halfway through, I want to fuck you in that side room off the ballroom, the one where everyone hangs out at the end of the night. I want to fuck you until I have to cover your mouth to keep you quiet so no one hears you coming only a few feet from the party, and then I want you to walk back out there and make small talk while filled up with my come.” He barely waits a beat. “And then I want to do it again, and again, until we’re caught for real, until someone walks in to find me fucking the pure princess the rough and dirty way you crave.”